Framed Hearts, Silent Yearning

Trapped in gilded prison, a prince of painted grace. Brushstrokes carved my

story, frozen time, my face. Across the hall, she stands,

a humble, simple muse. Her peasant's gaze, it whispers, "What do we

have to lose?" Gold holds me, wood surrounds her. Our worlds apart, a silent blur.

Framed hearts forever yearning. Colors burn but never turning. A love that's

real but out of reach. Trapped in oils, no words to teach.

Her basket filled with painted fruit, a meadow at her feet. My palace cold,

its splendor cruel. The echoes incomplete. The way her smile holds sunlight, a warmth I'll